


Laundry Day

by deliriumbubbles



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7830679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliriumbubbles/pseuds/deliriumbubbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam finds a laundry buddy. But as much as Adam likes him, there are many things about him that Adam doesn’t know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laundry Day

Laundry day was Adam’s favorite day of the week. At first, it had simply been the fact that sitting by his tumbling clothes for a few hours gave him a reason to sit and read. His life didn’t afford that much down-time. It was a relief to sit and read some comics, or a novel, instead of wading through his school materials or going to one of his jobs. It was hard to keep afloat in New York City.

Adam had to admit, however, that his fondness for laundry day wasn’t just about the solitude and quiet it afforded him. That summer, he’d noticed someone new at the laundry mat: a young man, strong but slim, with startling grey-blue eyes and blond highlights. He was lovely, and he had the tendency to hum as he did his laundry.

Not in a ‘whistle while you work,’ kind of way. He didn’t seem to particularly like doing laundry. But he hummed anyway. Pop songs, Broadway book numbers, even piano concertos. It was endlessly entertaining. Adam would sit there with his book and listen to the young man humming, sometimes half-singing, instead of putting in his earbuds.

Once, Adam had managed to mutter, “I like your shirt,” but it had been too soft for any human being to hear.

Four weeks into their routine, and Adam was startled to hear a smooth, gentle voice asked him, “Do you have any extra dryer sheets?”

Of course, Adam gave the young man what he had. His cheeks burned for the rest of the day.

The next week, he managed to give the young man a wave. When he looked up, Adam noticed a bruise on his cheek and drew nearer in concern.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“It’s nothing. I just wasn’t very careful. I literally ran into a brick wall.” He chuckled to himself. He paused, smiled knowingly, and then asked, “What are you reading this week?”

Adam blushed hotly, but handed his book to the young man to see.

“Oh! _Tipping the Velvet!_ I’ve heard about this. Can’t beat crossdressing Victorian lesbians, can you?”

Adam chuckled. “It’s a lot more dramatic than it sounds, but it’s quite good so far.”

“You read pretty quickly, don’t you?”

“I do. Lucky for me.”

The young man smiled and opened up two washers and began to sort his clothes. He pulled a few garments aside and began to rub a hand-held stain remover on what looked like… dirt? Wine?

Taking a chance, Adam took the machine next to him.

“I’m Adam by the way,” he said, with every casual muscle he had to offer.

“I’m Kurt.”

And so, Adam had a laundry buddy.

He and Kurt talked about their lives, how they had come to New York City. Adam learned that Kurt was taking a gap semester (or year) while applying to theatre schools in New York. Kurt learned that Adam had been recruited from a traveling theatre company in the UK by the head of NYADA’s Theatre and Dramaturgy Department. Kurt had applied to NYADA, but been rejected.

“I wouldn’t be too upset on that account. NYADA can be incredibly arbitrary.”

“Well, I’m reapplying, but I don’t know what’s going to happen. I applied to other places last year, and got into some of them, but delayed acceptance because I was waiting for NYADA’s letter. It didn’t even come until after I’d graduated,” Kurt explained, perched on top of a washing machine, swinging his legs.

“Their admissions process is the longest I’ve seen for a college of this type. Early deadline for application, late auditions, late letters,” Adam agreed.

“I’m trying to get accepted for the spring semester. I heard they had an opening…” Kurt shrugged. “But I have _so many_ things going on right now. I might just go with a less demanding program.”

They talked about their various jobs: Kurt as waiter at the Spotlight diner and personal assistant, Adam as waiter/barista at a shop near the NYADA campus and bouncer.

“I’d love to see you _bounce_ someone,” Kurt drawled.

Adam cringed. “I’m actually very nonviolent.”

“That’s a good way to be.” Kurt looked away pensively. “I never had much use for violence, even growing up in Narrow-Mind, Ohio.”

“I can pull someone out of the club if they’re harassing someone, but really, my job mostly has to do with showing off my biceps and intimidating drunk people into not acting like fools.”

“That’s true. 75% of stopping violence is making the other guy think it’s not worth his time.”

Adam shrugged as he folded his briefs. “You’d be surprised how many women need to be persuaded out of violence when they’ve got a few in them.”

“Ah. How sexist of me.”

Laundry day became his favorite day of the week for an entirely different reason. He and Kurt could talk about anything. It was so easy. So much easier than any date he’d ever been on. Kurt was kind and funny. Adam couldn’t believe that he met this amazing person in the laundry mat.

“I can’t believe we spent so many weeks not even talking to each other,” Kurt said one day. “Like dealing with grimy clothes would be so much better than talking to an actual human being.”

“I dunno. I like laundry. It’s warm. It smells good. And when you’re done, everything is bright and clean.”

Kurt raised a brow. “Whew. And I thought _I_ was the one verging on OCD.”

“Oh, c’mon now. That’s not fair.” Adam chuckled and leaned over to see the jeans Kurt was working on. He’d just applied the spot remover onto another dark, brownish-red stain and was vigorously rubbing the fabric together.  “What is that, rust? Doesn’t it give you a sense of accomplishment to rescue your clothes from the bin?”

Kurt pulled his jeans away and looked at Adam guardedly. “I guess so. I don’t have a lot of extra money for clothes these days. Though, I’ve made a lot of them myself.”

“That’s really cool. Have you ever considered the costuming side of theatre?”

“Only every time I get rejected for an audition.”

“Well, I’d love to hear you sing sometime.”

Kurt nodded vaguely.

The next week, Kurt was missing from their scheduled laundry day, and Adam was quite upset. He sat here by himself, like he had every Thursday afternoon before Kurt had started keeping him company. He supposed he should be reasonable. They weren’t exactly dating. They were just doing a daily chore in the same vicinity.

Adam looked up from his book (today _Tales of the City_ , which Kurt had suggested as a light, fun read) to see a breaking news report on the grainy little television screen mounted far beyond anyone’s reach. There was a masked man wielding a hatchet in the middle of the street opposite several policemen. Adam sat up and leaned forward. What in the world was that man doing?

The masked man threw the hatchet, very nearly catching one of the cops in the shoulder. Just at that moment a long, loud note rang out through the screen and through the television. The hatchet flew off course. But that note, that sound… It was a sound Adam could never forget. The vocal weapon the media had dubbed the “Battle Cry.”

The Silver Songbird had arrived.

Adam stood and moved closer to the television. The Songbird’s hair was in disarray, and he sagged forward. He’d been fighting for some time, either with the man with the hatchet, or he’d just sprinted over from another fight.

“It looks like our city’s Songbird is a bit out of breath!” the newscaster announced. “But he’s disarmed the assailant who began his attack on the 42th Street Children’s Clinic only moments ago.”

“Oh, no,” a second newscaster said as the hatchet flew back into the masked man’s hand.

“Stand down!” the police ordered.

The Songbird took a step back, but the masked man had changed his focus, now. He barreled toward the Songbird, his hatchet raised high.

The Songbird did a backflip, caught a hanging bar connected to the sign above the clinic, and kicked the masked man square in the chest.

“You heard the NYPD, buddy!” the Songbird said in a dusky tone and with a vaguely Londonish accent. “Give it up! No one wants to see anyone get hurt, and there are kids in that clinic.”

The masked man rose, slowly. The Songbird dropped back to the ground. Adam wondered why the police didn’t just shoot the masked man. Surely twirling a hatchet around, and throwing it directly at a policeman, was enough to warrant some of the famous NYPD brutality.

They held off, however, and the Songbird didn’t draw his weapons either. Adam knew he had a pair of sai swords that he kept on him, just in case he needed to fight hand to hand. The Songbird avoided it, however.

Now, the Songbird was on the ropes. The masked man had more than one hatchet, and they came back to his gloved hands after he threw them. It kept the police at bay, and while the NYPD didn’t formally approve of the Songbird, they seemed to be content to let him handle it… Or they were planning on something and needed their vigilante to keep the guy in place.

Either way, the man came at the Songbird again and again. The Songbird ducked, dodged, shot short Cries at him.

Why doesn’t he just unleash it on him? Adam wondered. The Songbird was holding back with every weapon he had available to him.

The machine behind Adam beeped, but he ignored it. Something was happening. Suddenly, the Songbird fell to the ground. There was a second man there!

“It looks like the Silver Songbird has been wounded!” the newscaster said.

“No, no,” Adam muttered.

The Songbird pushed himself up, stumbled backward, and pulled out his swords. His left leg was injured, but determination read on every line of his body.

Adam’s heart beat like a drum as he watched the rest of the battle unfold. The Cries were stronger, and the swords spun and struck with quick precision, until he’d destroyed the devices on their hands that called their hatchets back to them. The men tried to run, then, but they found that they were surrounded by police, who wrestled them to the ground.

Behind the Songbird, people started to come out of the clinic. Parents, hovering around their frightened children. One small girl of about four or five slipped away from her mother to stare up at the Songbird. The Songbird looked back at the wall of police officers, and then knelt gingerly down to the child, smiling as he spoke to her.

Adam held his breath for a moment. The police might arrest the Songbird, too, and the Songbird knew it. He was injured and surrounded. It was broad daylight.

When the Songbird staggered to his feet again, he looked around at the officers and seemed to be wondering the same thing. But one of the officers came up and offered the Songbird a hand to shake. The Songbird took it, hesitantly.

Adam was relieved that the Songbird wouldn’t be taken into custody for this. That wasn’t always a given. But maybe the NYPD had brought him in to help? Adam couldn’t guess. Crime had always been an issue in New York, but he’d never seen some of these types of criminals. Not to mention the rising occurrences of hate crimes. The city was split on how they felt about the masked heroes and villains, but as far as Adam could see, they needed people like the Songbird.

He just hoped the man behind the song wasn’t hurt too badly.

The next week, Adam was grateful to see that Kurt was back, and with enough laundry to suggest that he hadn’t just come earlier or later that week. Adam smiled when he saw Kurt enter with his laundry bag, and then frowned deeply when he realized Kurt was _limping_.

“Kurt!” Adam hurried over to him and took his bag. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“Oh. You don’t have to- I’m fine.” Kurt gave Adam a reassuring smile. “I just pulled a muscle working out. In my calf. It hurts, but it’s mostly just annoying. I can carry my own bag.”

“Well, still. If you go easy on yourself, you’ll get better quicker.” Adam took Kurt’s bag over near the machines he had just dropped his own clothes into. “I missed you last week.”

“Um, yeah, I had to pick up some extra shifts at work last week.  It was really busy.”

“I’d imagine diner goers can be demanding. Any interesting song requests?”

“Hm?” Kurt eased himself into a folding chair. “Oh. Um. Just the regular stuff. People aren’t that creative.”

“I suppose not!” Adam opened up the machine and started separating the dark clothes. “Maybe I’ll come by sometime. Give you something interesting to sing.”

“If I see you outside of the laundry room, I would rather it not be work. You don’t have to do my laundry!”

“You rest, mister!”

Kurt chuckled. “I didn’t come here intending to make you my Cinderfella.”

“Well, you’ve got me. Did you see the news last week with the Hatchet Brothers?”

“I saw. Wild, huh? Men attacking a children’s clinic, some weird mutant freak opera-ing at them to get them to stop.”

“I don’t think the Songbird is a freak. Not at all. He saved my life once, you know.”

“I- What? He did?” Kurt shifted in his chair.

Adam measured out the soap and poured it in. “He did. I was walking home from my bouncer job. It’s a gay club, and it didn’t help that I was wearing a skintight, sleeveless shirt, and Taye from the bar had spritzed me with some glitter perfume on my break.”

“Oooh…”

“Three fellows followed me. One hit me on the back with a crowbar.” Adam turned around. “I don’t know if I would’ve made it if the Songbird hadn’t appeared. I looked up from the muck on the street, and… There he was. Singing his Battle Cry.”

Kurt’s mouth opened slightly, but he said nothing.

“I don’t remember much. I was dizzy. Injured. And my body was overdosing on adrenaline. All I can really remember after the men ran off is a gentle, reassuring smile and a strong hand helping me to my feet. He spoke to me for a moment. Offered me an ambulance. Then he took my phone and called my friends to come pick me up.”

Adam shrugged. “And then he was gone. Off to save someone else. I never even collected my wits enough to thank him.”

“I’m _sure_ he knows how much you appreciated it.”

“I wonder. And now he’s out there, somewhere, getting attacked by violent creeps. Getting _hurt_. Worrying the police will stop him for doing these good things.”

Kurt leaned forward and folded his hands. He looked up at Adam pensively. “Isn’t he… I mean he’s breaking the law, too, isn’t he, in a way?”

“I’m not so fussed about that. We allow citizen’s arrests.”

“Usually not with magical vocal cords and ninja weapons.”

Adam chuckled. “Maybe not. But he still saved those children last week. He still saved me.”

“Yeah. Did you hear why that clinic was attacked? One of the men was an ex of a doctor there. He wanted to hurt her by hurting the kids she works with.”

“That’s… what an asshole.”

“He had his brother lead the Songbird all over the city, _just_ to distract him. Which meant that the brother was endangering of the lives of people entirely unconnected to this little drama they were playing out. And the Songbird had to decide to leave the one brother and come after the other when a young police woman flagged him down and told him what was going on.” Kurt rested his chin on his hand. “How do you choose between these people and those people? It’s…”

Kurt trailed off, seeming a little lost.

“He could use some help,” Adam suggested. “I wish the police worked with him more often. I wish they’d offered him more assistance last week.”

“ _That_ would be nice.” Kurt pursed his lips. “But he decided to do this. All on his own. No one _asked him_ to put on a mask and get in everyone’s business.”

“No. But _I’m_ glad he did.”

Kurt said nothing. He just leaned on his forearms and twisted his fingers.

Adam checked on his laundry, then asked Kurt to watch their things while he went out. When he returned, he had two cups of ice cream from the shop next door.

“Raspberry cheesecake ice cream?” Adam said, offering a cup to him. “With sprinkles?”

“You’re uncannily astute.” Kurt took it and smiled widely. “Just what I needed to heal.”

Adam pulled up a chair so they could sit together. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

Kurt licked his spoon slowly. “…It was worth it.”

“It was?” Adam raised a brow.

“No pain, no gain,” Kurt breezed. “I’ll just have to be more careful.”

Adam chuckled and took a spoonful of his ice cream.

“I know I said,” Kurt said quietly, “I didn’t want you to come to my work. But would you ever want to go out for coffee sometime? Or get dessert, sans laundry.”

“I would love to,” Adam replied right away. “Any time.”

“You and me.” Kurt sucked in his lower lip as he smiled.

Adam pushed his hair back and watched Kurt for a moment. As Kurt looked down at his ice cream, a lock of highlighted hair fell over his forehead. Adam reached over and touched Kurt’s shoulder gently.

Kurt met his eye. Together they quietly ate their ice cream together, until the washing machines buzzed again.


End file.
